Blood Bought

by Robin Roughley

  Nicking the car keys from Barry Dyer had been easy, he'd been sprawled on the sofa, his damaged nose smeared with white, his mouth wide as he snored.

  It had been his intention to go to his mother for refuge, she would know what to do, she always did. Yet somehow the dream had continued to flicker through his mind and he had driven out here on autopilot, suddenly determined to make the gory dream a reality.

  Now, his eyes scanned the interior of the room, the walls covered with mellow oak, the ceiling dissected with gnarled beams.

  When he saw Cheryl Hucknall walk into the room wrapped in a fluffy robe he felt the hatred spew up through his mind. Lifting a glass of wine from the table she took a sip, her hair was piled on top of her head, her long legs flashed as she eased onto the sofa and grabbed a magazine from the table.

  'Hate you.'

  His brain spluttered and misfired and he dipped into his coat pocket, rummaging in the small open package before rubbing his fingers across his gums, the coke making him judder and then snap to attention.

  An image roared through his mind, the bitch Cheryl running through the house as he chased her with a meat cleaver in his hand. He pictured his arm swinging, the blade scything through her back, ripping muscle and bone, her bloodcurdling scream sounding like a rabbit being skinned alive as she pitched forward to the floor. Then he would cut her up until her bloodied limbs lay scattered across the floor, her severed head – resting in the corner of the room where he had kicked it – staring blankly back with those gold-digger eyes.

  Moving to the right, he stopped at the front door, his chest rising and falling, his fury building as the usual petulance swamped his mind.

  By rights this should be his house, he was stuck in the poxy apartment on the far side of town while his old man lived in this big fuck-off house in its own grounds.

  An image of his mother slithered through the anger, they had been standing in the kitchen of the family home, the one his old man had provided for them when the divorce had been finalised.

  'I know your father, Andrew, and I can guarantee he'll have written that bitch into his will, or if he hasn't done it yet then he soon will do. He'll leave her the house and she'll be laughing at us while we are left with nothing.'

  Andrew had listened as his mother spat out the words, more vitriol had followed.

  'He's always been the same, always shagged around, even when we were married he used to spend a fortune on young whores, but this Cheryl is different she's got her claws in big time. Your bastard father is infatuated with her and she will screw him for everything and we'll end up with nothing!'

  Andrew had watched his mother's face twist with hatred, her hands turned into claws, her teeth bared.

  Blinking, he refocused on the front door, his lips smeared white, his eyes wide and glassy. Then he moved to the right and made his way to the corner of the house and along the stone path that would take him to the rear of the property, his hands jittering, his mind awash with screams and bloody gore.

  96

  Pulling to the kerb, May quickly turned off the lights and engine before snapping off the seatbelt and leaping from the car.

  The narrow side street was devoid of streetlights, the tarmac littered with broken glass from where the kids had hurled stones, demolishing the lights. There were no houses on the street, when the mill had been open the road would have been crammed with people heading to work but those days were long gone, and weeds now grew where thousands of feet had once trod.

  When she saw the headlights turn the corner, she closed the door quickly and moved along the pavement until she came to the gap in the chain-link fence.

  May Linton didn't even bother looking towards the lights, after all she knew it was Moss following, so she slithered through the gap and strode towards the mill, her booted feet crunching over the debris. The building loomed above her and she dipped a hand into her pocket, pulling out the head torch and slipping it on without activating the light.

  Reaching the corner of the building, she stopped and glanced over her shoulder in time to see Moss pull up behind her car, the headlights vanished, and the shadows swept back in.

  She heard the sound of the engine die, then the small interior light came on. May moved back slightly as Moss stood by the side of the car, his face turned towards the building. She could almost sense his confusion as he stood on the cracked pavement.

  When the door closed with a thump, she watched her ex-boss walk over to the fence and slip through the gap.

  'Come on, Mr Big Man, time to play,' she whispered before vanishing around the corner of the building.

  97

  As soon as Andrew Viner turned the handle the dog started to bark, Viner snarled and snatched his hand away as if the metal was blisteringly hot.

  He hesitated for a moment and then shook himself, what did it matter if the dog barked, he knew the slut had one of those stupid fucking designer dogs. The type you saw those celebrity bitches carrying under their arm as if it were some sort of bizarre handbag.

  Ignoring the barks, he stepped forward and grabbed the handle again, his eyes narrowing, one side of his mouth lifted in a sneer as he found it locked. His coke-fuelled brain raged, and he thumped a hand against the woodwork.

  The dog continued to yap, the sound loud and frantic, he stepped back and lashed out, his boot crashed into the woodwork, the frustration building as the lock held firm.

  'Fucking bastard!' he spat furiously as he tried again.

  Suddenly, the barking stopped, silence descended, and Viner hesitated in confusion.

  Moving right, he peered through the window, the view revealed the long narrow passage that led the full length of the house, when he saw Cheryl Hucknall sprint through the open front door, the dog in her arms, the rage screamed through his mind. He spun away and ran back to the corner of the house.

  He had taken three long strides when he saw car lights flash through the trees on the lane. The sight brought him to a juddering halt and he felt the first flickering of fear as Hucknall appeared, running full tilt down the gravel drive, her white bathrobe shining bright in the darkness.

  When the lights speared onto the drive, Viner felt the fear turn instead to terror. The headlights lanced out, the flash of light narrowly missing him.

  Cutting left, he dashed across the small stretch of lawn, the bushes to his right offering concealment as he ran into the trees that bordered the property.

  Half a minute later, he reached the gate set in the tall fence and pushed it open onto the back lane. Viner stood ankle deep in wet grass, his heart thudding, his face lathered with sweat as he turned and staggered towards Dyer's car parked fifty yards away. The effects of the coke seemed to leave him in a rush, like an enema in full flow as he yanked the car door open and fell behind the wheel, his right hand shaking as he fumbled the key into the ignition. Seconds later, he drove away, the engine roaring as fear once again swamped every emotion, even the hatred.

  98

  Lasser aimed the torchlight at the muddied footprint on the back door of Frank Viner's house.

  Moving back, he swept the beam to the right and left, then walked back to the side of the house, the light aimed at the ground like a bloodhound's nose snuffling through the grass.

  Over to the right, caught in the glare of the Audi's headlights, he could see Bannister talking to Cheryl Hucknall, her arms wrapped around her shivering body, the small dog sat at her feet patiently waiting to see what would happen next.

  Ignoring them, Lasser turned back to the footprints in the damp grass, following the trail over the lawn until he lost them in the woodland at the far edge of the garden.

  He hesitated, the beam lancing out and bouncing off the trees, then he moved forward weaving his way around the trunks of the old trees. When he saw the open gate in the towering fence he moved towards it and stepped through onto the lane. After looking left and right and seeing nothing, he sighed in disappointment before backtracking through the woods. He ar
rived back at the house and headed over to Bannister who was still talking to the woman, the DCI glanced up and Lasser shook his head as he approached.

  'Whoever it was they went through a gate at the end of the woods, it leads out onto the back lane,' he explained.

  Cheryl glanced at Lasser and then shivered.

  'Why don't we go inside then you can get warm?' Bannister suggested.

  Cheryl managed a shaky smile as she turned and walked back towards the front of the house, the small dog following.

  Bannister nipped back to the car and turned the engine and lights off before locking it.

  'Right, Sergeant, let's find out what the hell happened here,' he said as they walked towards the property.

  Bannister entered first and Lasser looked out over the darkened garden one last time, his face settling into a frown as he closed the front door.

  99

  Adam Stokes trudged down the darkened street, he had spent a large part of the day sat in a town centre boozer trying to make the drink last for as long as possible. In the end the landlord had told him that he would either have to buy another drink or leave.

  Stokes had thrown him a poisonous glare and stormed from the pub, the loose change rattling in his pocket mocking him as he emerged onto the busy street.

  Reluctantly, he had used most of his cash to get the bus out to Leigh and now he was at the end of a three-mile walk from the town centre to the old mill. Every step seemed to force home how pathetic his life had become, and now he walked, hands in pockets, his face burning with anger as he kicked an empty can into a road littered with broken glass.

  Raising his head, he stopped in surprise when he saw the two cars parked on the road. Looking right, he took in the huge mill towering up into the night sky, the windows – too numerous to count – shone in the rising moonlight.

  He moved slowly towards the cars, every few seconds his eyes moved back towards the mill, his forehead creased in a frown of confusion.

  Walking past the cars, he stopped and looked into each one before he turned back to face the monolith of a building. Then he pulled out his phone and stabbed at the screen, the blue light illuminating his haggard face.

  After navigating his way to his email account, he opened the solitary message.

  'I'm waiting,' the message said.

  Stokes checked the time, realising that the message had been sent less than ten minutes ago.

  Pocketing the phone, he looked back towards the cars, trying to fathom why two vehicles were parked tight to the kerb.

  The voice of reason tried to sound the alarm bells, but Adam Stokes hardly heard it, all he could think of was his shitty life that had once shown such promise now revolved around a smothering bedroom with tacky pictures on the wall and pockets devoid of money.

  He recalled times when he had platinum credit cards galore, when he strutted around in a sharp suit with the designer shades in his top pocket, his face tanned, his aftershave expensive.

  Now he had been reduced to this, standing on some godawful back street in a town he had always hated, not a penny in his pocket, and nothing on the horizon apart from yet more poverty, more deprivation. And all his penury could be traced back to women. Three women. His tight-fisted bitch of a mother, the two-faced bitch, Sarah Jolly and the status-seeking, snobby bitch Medea Sullivan.

  Suddenly, the anger flared and took control of his mind and body, his arms rigid by his side, his teeth braced in fury.

  When he saw a glimmer of light at one of the first-floor windows the spell was broken, and Stokes stormed forward, pushing through the gap in the fence he started to run towards the building, every fibre of his body screaming out for revenge.

  100

  Cheryl sat with the dog on her knee, hugging the small animal who licked her, neck, sensing her distress. She was leaving a voicemail on Frank Viner's phone, her voice high and agitated as she explained about the man trying to get in through the back door. Seconds later, she tapped at the screen and sighed.

  'Do you know where Frank Viner is?' Bannister asked. He was sitting in a chair facing the sofa where she sat while Lasser tried to stay inconspicuous over near the door.

  Cheryl wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her robe, leaving a smear of mascara on the white material. 'Not a clue,' she sniffed, her eyes flicking to the DCI's face before rapidly moving away.

  'What about his son?'

  Even from across the room Lasser saw the look of disgust flash through her tear-filled eyes. 'I hardly ever see him, and to be honest that's the way I want to keep it.'

  Lasser shifted his feet on the oak flooring as he waited for Bannister to push the issue.

  'You don't like the man?'

  A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she continued to hold the dog close to her breast. 'I know you see me as some gold-digger, someone who is only with Frankie because he has money in the bank. OK, I will admit that perhaps at first it was nice having a man treat me right and buy me things, but the truth is he's a great guy and I do love him.'

  Bannister thought for a moment before nodding. 'OK, but what about his son?'

  Lasser could see the turmoil on her face, her mouth moved though no sound came out, as if she were holding some internal dialogue trying to decide what to say.

  Then her face seemed to harden slightly as if she had reached a decision. 'The man's a prick, and I told Frankie that under no circumstances do I want to be left alone with Andrew bloody Viner.'

  'Any particular reason you feel that way?' Lasser asked from the doorway.

  Cheryl blinked and looked in his direction as if she had forgotten he was in the room.

  'The first time I met him, me and Frank were out for a meal and he came in with a couple of his so-called friends. I knew straight away I didn't like the man, he sat down by his father's side and winked at me he then spent the next twenty minutes licking his lips and staring at my breasts.'

  'What about Frank, what did he have to say?' Bannister asked.

  'Nothing, every time he looked at his son, Andrew had wiped the smirk off his face.'

  'And replaced it with a butter-wouldn't-melt look?' the DCI asked, loosening his tie.

  Cheryl nodded. 'I'd only been with Frankie a few weeks and decided not to say anything.'

  'But he must have done something else because you told Frank you didn't want to be left alone with golden boy,' Lasser said.

  The heat in her face seemed to intensify. 'We had a barbecue here, it was a business thing really. Frankie had some clients over and Andrew turned up unannounced.'

  'Bet that went down like a turd in the hot tub,' Bannister said with a raised eyebrow.

  Chery looked at him and nodded. 'He had an entourage with him, as far as I can gather Andrew always has someone tagging along like a lap dog, though to be honest he uses them to drive while he gets off his face.'

  Lasser thought of Andrew Viner failing the breathalyser but kept his mouth shut when he saw Cheryl's eyes lose focus as she thought back to that painful incident.

  'I was in the kitchen getting a drink, he came in and started pawing me,' she shivered. 'He had one of his mates standing at the back door as if keeping watch. In the end I managed to push him away and I threatened to scream.'

  'He backed off?' Lasser enquired as he took three steps into the room.

  'Yeah, but not before he had called me some disgusting names.'

  'Do you know why his father keeps bailing him out?'

  Cheryl shrugged. 'I have no idea, and believe me, I've asked Frankie about that, I mean, he spends a fortune on making sure he has a roof over his head, a car and a free tab no matter where he goes. But all Frankie said is that he's family.'

  'And you don't push the issue?'

  'No.'

  'I take it you told him about what Andrew had done in the kitchen?' Bannister probed.

  The dog shuffled round before curling in her lap and closing his eyes.

  'I did, and Frankie was furious and said he would sort it.'
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br />   'And did he?'

  'Well, he must have said something because Andrew stopped calling at the house, and to be honest I haven't see him in weeks.'

  'When was the last time you saw Frank?'

  She sniffed again and looked up at Lasser who stood with his hands thrust into his pocket, his dark eyes fixed on her face.

  For a few seconds she chewed at her bottom lips, her face anxious. 'Last night. Jenny, from The Royal Oak, rang him and told him that Andrew had been there causing trouble, but one of the guests at the restaurant had turned out to be a copper. She said this guy had broken the nose of Andrew's crony and then insisted that Andrew took a breathalyser test. Of course, he was over the limit but apparently Andrew tried to say that he hadn't driven there but the copper had filmed him on his mobile behind the wheel.'

  'It was me at The Oak,' Lasser admitted.

  For the first time she looked at him with a hint of admiration in her eyes. 'As soon as Frankie heard the news he wanted to go and have a word with Andrew, he was fuming mad, but I persuaded him to leave it to this morning.'

  'And he's been gone all day?' Bannister asked.

  'Yeah, but that's nothing new, normally Frankie always has some meeting to attend…'

  'On a Saturday?'

  Cheryl managed to smile at the question. 'Believe me, it doesn't matter what day it is, Frankie is a workaholic and he has a lot on at the moment so he's probably talking business with a client.'

  Lasser glanced towards the window, the darkness pressing against the glass. 'Did you know about the gate at the other side of the woods?' he asked.